A Christmas Burrito
by Leahelisabeth
Summary: My Fic for SPN J2 X-Mas. This is a gift for cherry916. Tensions are running high in the bunker after Gadreel is forced out. Dean is drinking non-stop and Sam is definitely coming down with something but what they really need to do is talk. Expect the usual helpings of Hurt/Comfort and angst and also a little dash of Christmas cheer.


To be perfectly honest, Dean wasn't sure if Christmas was something they did anymore. They certainly hadn't given more than passing mention to the day since that last Christmas before Dean had gone to hell. There was always some reason to put it off, whether it was the apocalypse, Sam not having a soul, Sam being in a coma after having his soul returned, Bobby dying, or many other reasons. This year, they were both healthy. Sure, the angels had fallen and there was an epic battle going on for the throne of hell but now that the backstabbing asshole was out of Sam, Heaven and Hell probably wouldn't fall apart without Winchester interference over the next few days. Dean hardly knew how to deal with this lack of urgency and really all he wanted to do was celebrate Christmas with his little brother. Too bad Sammy seemed to hate his guts.

Dean sighed and reached for his glass of whiskey. It was empty. He looked at the clock and groaned. It was 6:30 am and that meant it was Christmas morning. He picked up his glass and looked at it thoughtfully, wondering if it still counted as morning drinking if he hadn't been to bed yet.

He shrugged and got up, put his bathrobe on and shuffled to the kitchen. The only one who ever cared enough to call him on his alcohol abuse was Sam and since Sam currently seemed indifferent at best to the possibility of Dean's death from alcohol poisoning, there was no one to tell him no. He paused on his way back to his bedroom and looked at Sam's closed door. It was still early. There was no real reason for concern but, since Gadreel had left, Sam had not slept later than 5 am, returning to his practice of intense early morning jogging that he had kept when Lucifer had been along for the ride. Maybe Sam was giving himself a bit of a lie-in because of the holiday, Dean thought, but something still bugged him about Sam's closed door. He raised his hand to knock but then hesitated. Sam did need to get some rest. Maybe he was finally managing to get over Gadreel. He couldn't hate his big brother over that forever, could he? Mind made up, Dean grasped his bottle tight and wandered back to his bedroom.

oooOooo

Sam thought he heard creaking outside his bedroom. He opened his mouth to call out but he couldn't even manage a whisper of sound through the agony of his throat. He brought his hand up to cover his eyes and squeezed tight, trying to relieve his terrible headache. Nothing helped. He was cold and hot and freezing and boiling and he was sure his brain was going to leak out of his ears at any moment.

"Dean,?" He whimpered. Even the small sound of his own voice made his head throb mercilessly.

He tried to sit up but the change in position just made him vomit all over his clean pajamas. Tears leaked out of his eyes and he knew he couldn't just lie there in his own filth and wait for Dean to realize that he was sick. Slowly and painfully, he crawls out of his bed and shucks his soiled clothing, pulling on a pair of bright neon pink fuzzy pants that Dean had once bought him as a joke and Sam's favorite sick hoodie. He looked at his bed and suddenly didn't want to get back in it. It was hard and cold and much too short and now it smelled like puke. Sam pulled his extra blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped himself up in it so only his face poked out and he staggered down the hall to warmth and comfort.

Dean was passed out on top of the covers, a half empty whiskey bottle sitting on the ground beside him. Sam pouted for a second. Dean was in totally the wrong position. But if he woke him up, he might be mad and yell again and that would make Sam's head hurt and maybe Dean would make Sam go back to his own bed. He grinned when he saw that Dean also had an extra blanket. He could crawl under more covers and get warm without unwrapping himself. He giggled quietly. He had made himself into a Sammy burrito, just like Dean used to do when he was sick as a kid. Dean had always wrapped him up tight, thrown another blanket on top and then crawled in beside him.

"There," Dean would say. "We're just two little burritos chilling in a pan and we've got a nice layer of cheese melting on top and the oven is nice and warm."

Sam would slowly stop shivering and he would usually fall asleep wrapped up warm and safe. Then when Dad came home, if the hunt had gone well and if he hadn't been drinking, he would laugh and gather his two boys up into his arms.

"Mmmmm, my favorite, Sammy and Deano burrito. It's the perfect meal after a long day." Then they would shriek with laughter while John pretended to eat their heads and then Sam would discover he was better, just like magic.

Sam realized he was standing there, just holding Dean's extra blanket. He shivered again as he spread out the blanket over Dean and crawled in beside him. He snuggled carefully into Dean's side and sighed as delicious warmth started to seep into his bones. He drifted off to sleep.

oooOooo

First, Dean noticed the warmth. His left side was positively drenched with sweat and his left arm was very asleep. Next he became aware of a presence in the bed beside him. It couldn't be a demon, not in the bunker. It couldn't be any other kind of monster for the same reason. He supposed it could be Cas but he had more of a tendency to stand creepily by Dean's pillow and watch him sleep. Whoever it was, they were wrapped up completely in a blanket, nothing sticking out, and they were snoring in a rather congested fashion.

Dean slowly rolled what he assumed was their head off his chest and peeled back the blankets to reveal one sleeping little brother.

He patted Sam's cheeks to rouse him. "Sam, hey Sam! Wake up, dude!" He was a little shocked at the heat pouring off his brother's body.

Sam opened up fever-bright eyes with great effort. "Sam's not here. M'a Sammy burrito," he rasped

"Shit, Sammy, this is not good." Dean threw off the covers and tried to stand up.

Sam rolled after him and almost rolled right off the bed. "I can't get better if the Deano burrito doesn't stay in the oven with me," he whined.

"You also can't get better if the Deano burrito doesn't get you a fever reducer and some water," Dean said gruffly wincing at the sound of Sam's voice.

Sam pouted and gazed up at Dean, looking all of five years old. "Can you put the cheese back on before you go?"

"Yeah, kid, I can do that," Dean smiled softly before tucking the blanket back around his giant brother.

Sam was unconscious when he returned, kicking off hours of frantic movement for Dean. He poured medication down Sam's lax throat, he dumped him in baths of ice water, and he crawled under the blankets with him when the shivering got too much. Finally, when Dean was about to haul him out to the Impala to drag him to the nearest hospital, Sam's fever dropped out of the danger zone and Dean felt like could breathe again.

Dean looked over at his clock and realized there were still a few hours of Christmas left and, with his brother snuggled close at his side, he thought maybe they could do it for once after all. It was hard to reach for his phone without waking Sam but he managed it and quickly sent off a text. Then he smiled down at his brother and pulled him a little closer.

oooOooo

It was warm and it smelled good, like leather and home and a hint of peppermint and chocolate. He felt safe.

He yawned loudly, his jaw cracking, and forced his gritty eyes open. His face turned bright red when he realized he was in his brother's bed, curled up in his brother's arms.

"Crap," Sam panicked and tried to get up but he was completely trapped in the blanket.

"Hey, don't move, Sammy. You've been really sick." Dean's worried face hovered close to his.

"So you kidnapped me from my bed and trapped me in a blanket?" Sam scowled.

"Dude, no. You came in here, told me you were a Sammy burrito and made me cuddle with you!" Dean laughed.

Sam frowned, "I'm pretty sure that hasn't worked since I was five."

"Yeah, well, apparently fever Sam thinks that you ARE five,"

Sam flopped back to the bed and closed his eyes, "ugh, just kill me now."

"Not when I've done literally everything possible to keep you alive." Dean said seriously.

Sam turned cold so quickly that Dean's head spun.

"Sammy, that's not..." Dean trailed off.

"Forget it, Dean. What were you thinking, that you could cuddle me at my most vulnerable and when I woke up, everything would be erased? It doesn't work like that," Sam snapped.

"Well no...but we've both done some pretty awful things to save each other and we've always moved past it. I was hoping it was time to move on?" Dean whispered.

"I want to move on, oh God, do I ever want to move on. But this time was different and I need you to understand why so that the next time you have to make a choice like this, you will let me die," Sam is sobbing now and Dean doesn't know if he should hold him or leave the room.

"Sammy, I can't just..."

"Yes, you have to." Sam interrupted. "Do you know which memories haunt me, which nightmares I can never shake?"

"Are you still connecting to Hell-vision? If Lucifer is back in your melon, you need to tell me," Dean asked frantically.

"No, not since Cas took it. In my dreams, I'm looking at my hands and I'm watching them move, I'm watching them kill. I watch them slicing Steve Wandell's throat so deeply I can see his spinal cord. I watch them pounding your face until you're unrecognizable. I watch them force a young woman into submission as her frantic screams slowly stop. The light leaves her eyes with me deep inside her, my hands choking the life from her. I see them burning Kevin's eyes from his skull. People, friends, innocents, have been destroyed by these hands and I watched it happen and there was nothing I could do," Sam's voice broke but he forced himself to look into Dean's eyes.

"It was a violation. I no longer had control over my own body. Meg and Lucifer, it was like they raped me. And each time you were there to pick up the pieces and give me my life back. But this time, with Gadreel, you held me down and let it happen," Sam had to stop.

Dean looked at his brother, unable to hide the horror and the guilt. "Sammy, I...I didn't know."

Sam managed to get his arms out of the tight blanket and threw them around his brother's waist. "I forgive you, of course I forgive you. You're my brother and I love you. I just needed you to understand."

Dean wept too. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Finally, Sam pushed himself away from his brother and drew a shaking hand down his face. "If you mention the tears, I'm blaming it all on the fever."

Dean's phone buzzed and he checked the text and smiled. "Hey, are you feeling strong enough to go to the main library? We still have 15 minutes of Christmas left and I have a surprise."

"If I can take my blanket," Sam said.

Dean supported his brother down the hallway, closer to light and warmth and good smells. A fifteen foot tree stood in the corner of the library, impeccably decorated. A fire was roaring in the fireplace and two cups and two covered dishes sat on tv tables in front of an overstuffed leather couch that Sam had never seen before.

"Who? How?" Sam sputtered.

"Cas. I called in a few favors. He got a couple of his most trusted Angel buddies to help." Dean pulled the cover off the closest dish to reveal a plate covered in turkey and all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas dinner.

Sam looked a little green. "No offense to Cas but I'm not sure that my stomach can handle that right now."

"Which is why your plate of Christmas dinner is in the fridge for later," Dean lifted the other cover to reveal a bowl of chicken soup with a handful of saltines.

Sam grinned, sank into the couch and started spooning up the soup. "Thanks man, this is perfect. I know I've been kind of a dick lately. You didn't have to do this."

"Only because I was a dick first," he reached under the tree and pulled out a couple gifts.

Sam grinned as he unwrapped the latest tv season of Game of Thrones. "Thanks. I wish I had gotten you something."

"This sounds terribly cheesy and I apologize already for saying it, but I have everything I need right here," Dean smiled.

Sam smiled shyly and thought for a second. He seemed to come to a conclusion. "Dean, can I borrow your knife?"

Dean was confused but handed it over.

Sam unwrapped his torso and pulled off his hoodie, the hoodie he wore every time he was sick, injured, or sad. He took the knife to an ill-repaired side seam and pulled out something small and bronze and placed it into Dean's hands.

Dean couldn't speak as he looked down at his old amulet resting in his hands. "I...I don't know what to say," he finally managed to choke out.

"Then don't say anything," Sam yawned, wrapped himself up again, leaned over onto Dean's shoulder and they both watched the cracking fire. Neither of them said another word that entire night.


End file.
